


The Most Tender Place in my Heart

by 13chapters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Community: salt_burn_porn, F/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13chapters/pseuds/13chapters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is alone in the world, until Jo shows him that he isn't.</p><p>Set between Seasons 3 & 4.</p><p>Written for homo_pink's prompt <i>It was one time but it was everything to me</i> at salt_burn_porn on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Tender Place in my Heart

**Author's Note:**

> **Thanks to:** [](http://akadougal.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://akadougal.livejournal.com/)**akadougal** for the quick beta! Also to my twitter feed for the edifying conversation on the best word to use for "vulva" in porn.  
>  **A/N:** I'm entirely sure what happened here. I was going for porn and out came all this angst.  
>  *The title is from Neko Case's song, [Hold On, Hold On](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a0vk5SGmw3w), which is _such_ a Sam song.  
>  *This fic takes place between Seasons 3 & 4, pre-Ruby.  
> *Written for homo_pink's prompt _It was one time but it was everything to me_ at salt_burn_porn on LJ.

If he hadn't already been pretty drunk when she'd walked in, he'd have just gotten up and left. Just shrugged on his jacket, dropped a few bucks down, and walked past her without saying a word. He doesn't feel like talking to anyone he knows, least of all her.

But he's had a few drinks and he's definitely feeling it, that warm confusion in the back of his head. No fucking way is he getting behind the wheel right now. He's already made enough bad decisions for any two people in his lifetime.

Sam looks down at the table. People have carved their initials into it, hearts, a crude dick. His hair hangs down in a curtain that hides his face and he thinks it might work until he risks a glance up and sees her sitting at the bar, her chair swiveled around to look directly at him..

He sits up, leans back in the chair, letting his legs cross at the ankles and meets her eye for a second before looking off to the left. He watches a couple of girls standing over the jukebox, the glow from the machine illuminating their faces.

She's not in his line of sight, but even over the din of the bar and the music he can hear the scrape of the chair against the wooden floor, the bottle slamming down on the table.

"Hey," she says.

"Jo," he says. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard about Dean," she says. There's genuine sorrow in her voice. "From Bobby. Sam, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," he says, and he means it. He's surprised by how much.

He hasn't heard those words from very many people. Or anyone, really, except Bobby. It feels good. It's been a long time since he felt that way.

"How are you doing?" she asks.

"Did Bobby send you here?" he wants to know, suddenly suspicious. Does Bobby even know where he is? He tries to remember the last time he talked to Bobby.

Jo shakes her head.

"No, Sam, I've heard some noises about a werewolf pack nearby. Doing some recon before I go in."

"Oh." He doesn't know what else to say. He hasn't said more than ten words to anyone since Dean.

"How are you doing?" she repeats, leaning forward, her elbows sliding on the filthy carved up table.

"Shitty and drunk," Sam says honestly.

Jo laughs, and Sam can't but help notice the bitterness in the sound.

"You're a hunter all right," she says, lifting her beer bottle. Sam meets her halfway with a _clink_ , but he doesn't drink, he just watches her. The buzz is fading, and he's sober enough to know what he's saying but just drunk enough not to be able to stop himself:

"I'm sorry, Jo."

She doesn't pretend not to know what he's talking about, which he appreciates.

"Sam, it wasn't your fault."

"I know," he says. "I know it wasn't my fault, but I'm still sorry. I...you know, I was still there. I wasn't in control, but I was there, I felt my hands on you, I could feel it, I could hear my voice, it was like it _could_ have been me."

Jo studies him for a moment.

"But it wasn't you." He opens his mouth and then shuts it when she raises a hand. "Sam, it wasn't you. I won't lie to you, I had some real bad fucking nightmares about a monster with your face and if I'd seen you in this bar a year ago, I would have walked out and thrown up in the parking lot before driving all night to get away. But it's still not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for."

"What happened between then and now?" Sam asks.

A strand of blond hair has escaped from the ponytail it's tied back in, and it's curling around her neck, lit up by the light of the Budweiser sign on the wall behind her.

She's beautiful.

Sam has always known that, it's not a secret. It was just something he never gave too much thought to before. Lots of pretty girls around the country, nothing new, just more people Sam couldn't get attached to.

"Started hunting," she says. Her smile is wry. "Really hunting. I'm no amateur now. I have seen some _shit_ in this gig, horrible things that I never dreamed of, I've _done_ horrible things, I don't look at the world in the same way as I did back then. Sometimes I think I'm going crazy, I'm sinking, I'm dying, just trying to, I don't know, find something to hold on to. Something to keep me sane and hopeful and help me get by to the next day." She looks down as she speaks, but Sam can hear the words growing heavy with meaning. She traces a heart carved in the table around the initials _M.K. + S.R._.

He can hear the question in her voice and it makes his breath catch. He can feel the heat in his groin, and god it's so strange and it's been so long but _yes_ he wants this.

And then Jo looks up at him, her big brown eyes visible through her eyelashes.

He doesn't feel like flirting. The thought of smiling, being coy, teasing, it's too exhausting. It's pointless.

"Do you want to come back to my room?" he asks.

"Yes," Jo says decisively.

Sam is sober by now, so when they get outside - cool wind off the ocean feeling shockingly good after the stuffy bar - they climb into the Impala. The drive back to the motel is mostly silent, Jo commenting briefly on how her motel is in the other direction.

Inside the room, Sam doesn't turn on the light, but there's enough illumination from a 7-Eleven sign across the street that he can see Jo toss her bag on a chair and shrug out of her jacket. He freezes, not totally sure of what to do next. Then she's standing on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling his head down.

Thinking is overrated.

The first kiss is brief and awkward, not quite at the right angle. The second one is much better, though, Jo's mouth opening so sweetly, her teeth scraping over Sam's lips as pushes against him. Sam grips at her hips, his fingers dropping under the hem of her jeans. He feels the lacy edge of her underwear, and then he's holding on tight and pulling her up. He turns with her momentum as she wraps her legs around his waist, sliding her mouth wetly down his chin and then to his neck. Sam buries his head in the soft fall of her hair and just breathes. The scent of of another person, the scent of _her_.

Then Jo has her mouth on his left ear and holy shit, it's like a direct line to his dick. He can't stop the little whimper from escaping his mouth and fuck, he doesn't really want to anyway. He carries Jo over to the bed, and sits down on the edge, her knees straddling his legs. Sam lets his hands slip under the back of her shirt, running them up along the knobs of her spine, under her bra. He can't feel a catch; it must be the kind that opens in the front.

Jo's nimble fingers are working their way up the buttons of Sam's plaid shirt, and he hears a little growl of frustration when she gets it off and finds his undershirt. He shucks it off himself quickly, tossing it on the floor. It's quickly joined by Jo's top and Sam sees in the dim lighting that he was right, that Jo's bra - a lacy thing that's black or maybe dark blue or purple, it's hard to tell - fastens in the front. Her fingers go to the clasp, but he reaches up and stops her.

"What?" she wants to know.

Sam turns over, flipping Jo onto her back on the bed. He looks down at her. She smiles wide, and he grins back before he can think about it.

"Let me do it," he says. "I love this kind of bra."

"Yeah?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says with a laugh. "Much easier to get off that the kind that fastens in the back."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jo tells him, and she's laughing too.

Sam crawls up the bed, straddling her waist with his knees. He cups her breasts through the lace, rubbing his thumbs across her nipples. She gasps and lets out a little sigh and Sam does it again, a little harder, increasing the friction of the fabric. Jo reaches down and undoes the button on her jeans, wriggling her hips a little to pull them down a bit. Her hipbones jut out on either side of her flat belly and Sam leans in, strokes across her belly button and up to the clasp in her bra, which he gets open with one hand.

Jo's breasts are small but perfect - aw, who is he kidding, they're _breasts_ , of course they're awesome. They easily fit in Sam's large hands, and Jo wriggles a bit up the bed, escaping further from her jeans. Sam follows her, ducking in to lick at her left nipple before kissing his way down her sternum, over her belly, and to the edge of her underwear.

"Is this okay?" he asks, looking up at her. She's propped up on her elbows, watching.

" _Fuck_ yes," Jo tells him emphatically, and then she's arching her back so Sam can finish pulling her jeans off, and he's tugging down her underwear.

He noses in, just taking in the smell of her for a moment. It's pretty fucking amazing and yeah, he'd been ready before but now he's seriously hard, his dick uncomfortable in underwear and jeans. He reaches down to unzip and pull his dick out as he leans forward and licks a stripe up her pussy.

Jo lets out a little noise, not exactly a moan but it sounds happy, and Sam can fucking concur as he presses in, licking and kissing and sucking. The smell and the taste is almost overwhelming, strong and musky and not sweet but just like _woman_ , it's been forever since he's done this which is a damned shame because he's pretty sure he's good at it.

Jo seems to agree, because after a few minutes she's pushed herself up, tightened her legs around his head and pushed her hands into his hair, pulling him closer as he focuses on her clit, humming as he licks at it. Her hips buck up rhythmically and his jaw is beginning to ache a little but he doesn't give a fuck because she's gasping and muttering nonsense words that are like goddamn music to his ears, and then she's coming with a little cry and a lot of shaking. She doesn't let go of his hair, she just holds on tighter, her fingers tangled in up the roots. She's strong and Sam wouldn't be able to free himself without losing a bit of hair, but he doesn't mind, he just licks and _mmmms_ until she relaxes and lets him go.

Sam finds his undershirt on the floor and wipes his mouth on it before climbing onto the bed, shedding his jeans and underwear as he goes. Jo is lying on her side, her left hand tucked under her head and he can see her watching him for a moment and he starts to jack his dick before she reaches over and covers his hand with hers.

"Let me," she says. Her voice is husky and she sounds exhausted, but there's nothing tired about her movements, fast and efficient, her thumb stroking around the head of his dick for wetness.

It's kind of weird, having someone else's hand on his dick after so long, but it's also kind of incredible. Jo doesn't do it the way he would, the way he knows he likes it, but it doesn't matter, he's making embarrassing noises, and there's heat spreading through his body, shooting up his spine and down to his toes. It builds and it feels so fucking good and he looks at Jo, who's _grinning_ and he's coming, all over his belly and her hand, and it's a little gross but a lot awesome.

Sam flops back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. His body is still riding the pleasure from the orgasm but his mind is already racing, wondering what will happen next.

And then Jo's there, leaning over him, her face only a few inches away.

"It's okay, Sam," she tells him. "It's not your fault."

He turns his head to look away from her and she reaches out, pulls him back.

"It's not your fault," she repeats.

He doesn't say anything. He thinks they'll fall asleep and in the morning maybe they can fuck in the shower and then he'll drive her back to the bar where she left her truck behind and then who knows when he'll see her next. Just him and the car and the empty space.

Then he's dozing and Jo's hand is stroking his arm. He listens to her breathe and wonders if maybe she isn't right.


End file.
